


Potions Potluck

by smokybaltic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Kink Exploration, Masturbation, Neville is a pagan with a manbun, Outdoor Sex, Potions, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Unprotected Sex, Veritaserum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokybaltic/pseuds/smokybaltic
Summary: When Hermione unwittingly takes Veritaserum at the Weasleys' potion potluck she involuntarily reveals all her secret kinks and desires.While other partygoers try to pry, her good friend Neville just wants to help.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 90
Kudos: 404





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone knew, in horrifying detail, all of Hermione’s kinks, and it was all George Weasley's fault. Or Ginny's. It was hard to say which ginger hellion was at the root of transforming Hermione’s social life into a living hellscape but once she confirmed it she would be exacting extensive retribution.

'Midsummer Mischief and Merriment! Potions Potluck' the invitation had read. A midsummer party at the Burrow had become something of a tradition in the years since the war. It usually included quidditch, various Weasley Wizarding Wheezes entertainments, and copious amounts of food and alcohol. 

The Burrow was an ideal spot for such a gathering. The sprawling yard was hemmed in by a small lake on one side and forest on the other. Lights were strung in the trees and bright collections of mismatched rugs, couches, and large pillows were scattered about. As the night wore on bonfires would be lit, fireworks set off, and invariably at least a handful of people would end up diving in the lake. 

The gathering had a laid-back, bohemian vibe to it that Hermione loved. She had leaned into it this year by wearing a red wrap maxi dress patterned with little blue and white flowers, and she’d applied enough Sleakeazy potion that her hair fell in long loose waves. 

Attendance had grown steadily as people paired off and expanded their social circle beyond Gryffindor alumni, so that, now in its fifth year, Hermione guessed there were at least fifty people who had turned up.

The twist to this year's festivities, the 'potions potluck', was, of course, a Weasley brainchild. 

The sadist who had contributed Veritaserum had yet to be identified.

Every guest had been asked to bring a single dose of a potion of their choosing. Hermione had magnanimously brewed up a batch of Baruffio's Brain Elixir for the occasion. She had presented it to George when she arrived, he had verified the contents, and added it to a table laden with dozens of colourful vials.

Not being a quidditch player, she spent the afternoon lounging, enjoying wine spritzers, and catching up with her non-quidditch loving friends, like Luna Lovegood, Rolf Scamander, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Neville Longbottom, the Patil twins and little Dennis Creevey. 

It was especially good to have a chance to chat with Neville, who she hadn't seen much of since he had become a professor at Hogwarts. How much he had changed- growing into a tall, broad shouldered, confusingly attractive man- still caught her off guard. It was almost surreal to talk with him and find the vestiges of his shy and awkward ways, the self depreciation and sheepish mannerisms, poking through such a fit exterior.

In spite of the fact he wasn't even her type she had to keep checking in with herself to verify she wasn’t leering at him; in a close fitting white short sleeve oxford and sporting a few days' stubble, he was more distracting than usual. 

Parvati seemed quite keen on him, and Hermione could hardly blame her, although she thought Neville could do rather better. But then, Hermione had always had 'her boys'- Harry, Ron, Neville, George, Viktor- that she tended to be extremely protective over. So she did her best to find Parvati's flirting amusing rather than irritating.

After the big quidditch match had wrapped up and everyone had partaken of the massive spread of food Molly and a few others had prepared, the lounge areas began to fill and the quidditch players applied themselves to catching up with the day-drinkers.

As the sun slipped away and it grew dark, trays bearing identical vials of silvery blue potion began to circulate.

Hermione had swirled and sniffed at her vial, but whatever glamour had been cast to render all the potions identical had been very thorough. She had no idea what it held.

She was chatting with Dean Thomas and Ron when George, standing atop a table, sent up a burst of gold sparks from his wand to get everyone's attention before lifting his own potion vial dramatically, "Drink up everyone! First aid station is in the kitchen."

Hermione laughed along with everyone else, offered Dean and Ron a cheers, and upended her mystery concoction.

A low grade chaos ensued as the potions took effect. She watched as Dean withered and grayed under the effects of an Ageing Potion, Dennis Creevey began speaking in a disconcerting basso profundo, and Ron started babbling incoherently. 

It wasn’t until Parvati, whose hair had turned an eye-watering neon pink, asked Hermione how she looked that Hermione realized what she herself had ingested.

"It looks absolutely horrid," she responded immediately, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

Parvati, looking mortally offended, viciously muttered something and hurried off. 

"I'm sorry!" Hermione called after her, before cursing to herself, "Bloody buggering fuck!"

"What is it?" asked a squeaky voice. Hermione looked down to see a miniature version of Lee Jordan, as she imagined he must have looked when he’d first come to Hogwarts.  _ Shrinking Solution, _ she thought. 

"I think I've taken Veritaserum," came her involuntary answer.

His eyes lit up, "Oh, this is going to be  _ gooood. _ " He darted off.

Hermione turned helplessly to Ron, "Shit, what do I do?"

"Twas twilly in cabbage sleighs," her ex-boyfriend replied sympathetically, "Leaky brick bit cauldrons grow over tweed."

Hermione groaned. She began surveying who was where, trying to calculate her greatest liabilities and the best options for retreat. 

She made her way over to the makeshift bar where Hannah Abbott was mixing up cocktails. Drinking was a good excuse for not talking, she reasoned, and Hufflepuffs were probably the least likely to exploit her current predicament. 

With a fresh spritzer in hand she stuck to the perimeter of the yard. She kept in constant motion, trying to appear as if she was looking for someone, so she could get by on offering apologetic nods instead of getting drawn into conversation. 

It seemed that Ageing Potions, hair altering potions, and Strengthening Solution had been popular choices, although many people seemed physically uneffected, like herself. Considering the balance of probability, she imagined a lot of people had just brought something they had on hand, like Wideye, Pepper Up, or Draught of Peace potions.

She also suspected the Veritaserum she'd ingested had been a very strong dose, and couldn't imagine who had brewed it. Even her thoughts felt uncharacteristically frank. She had just hit on the idea of going into the house to hide out until the effects diminished when Lee reappeared with George and Seamus in tow. 

"How are you feeling, love?" George asked, sidling up to her.

"Pretty fucking concerned, George." 

"Got the Veritaserum, did you?"

"Yep," she popped the 'p', "Not feeling real good about it, if I'm honest."

"So you don't want to tell us about all the snogging you did in the Hogwarts library, then?" Seamus ribbed.

"I do not."

"But you did do some snogging in the library?" he pressed, smiling devilishly.

"Ugh... yes. Fine, yes," she swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the potion's effect intensifying, urging her to volunteer more information. Offer up that it was Viktor Krum who had pressed her up against the shelves in the arithmancy section, hands wandering beneath hems, lips and teeth adorning her neck with little bruises she'd had to conceal. 

Her answer earned an incongruous wolf whistle from the childlike Lee, drawing more attention. 

"What’s going on here?" Angelina slid an arm around George's waist, looking up expectantly.

"Granger pulled Veritaserum."

"Oooh, really?" Alicia Spinnet came stumbling up behind Angelina, clearly having had a few drinks already, "Does that mean we're finally going to find out if she had her tits done?"

"Sorry,  _ what? _ " Hermione was in disbelief.

"Your tits," Alicia said matter-of-factly, "You were always just a skinny little thing, then  _ bam! _ " She threw an arm out in the general direction of Hermione’s chest, "Huge tits. Did you have them done?"

"No, of course not!" the emphatic negative might not have even been the work of the potion. She crossed her arms self consciously, suddenly very aware of how low her wrap dress plunged between her breasts. 

"Alicia!" Angelina admonished.

"What? It's a compliment," Alicia flicked her hair over her shoulder and smiled broadly at Hermione, "You have a great rack."

"Sorry, Hermione," Angelina winced, "She loses her filter when she's drunk."

"Oi! I'm not  _ drunk _ . Hey, why don't you ask about the thing? Brunch or whatever? You were just saying-"

Angelina hissed at Alicia, then turned back to Hermione, "Sorry, I had  _ mentioned  _ that we missed you at the last couple Sunday brunches and wondered why you didn't show."

Hermione sucked her teeth, she felt an answer catching in her throat.

"Hey, yeah," George seemed to remember, "Where were you anyway? Oops, sorry! Didn't mean to-"

Hermione looked apologetically at Ron, who had just walked up, as the answer spilled out, "I skipped it to go to the bookstore one week, and the beach the other time. Because of Katie, because I didn't want to make things awkward when Ginny was trying to set her up with Ron. I figured having the ex-girlfriend hanging about all the time would be uncomfortable. It wasn’t… ergh. I don’t- no offense to anyone."

"Smumphy caves under purple flick taters. Ring chomp before grindylows," it was difficult to decipher Ron's tone exactly, but he didn't sound completely pissed off, so Hermione took it as a win

Just then Harry pushed through the group, which was rapidly becoming a crowd, appearing at her side.

She nearly sagged with relief.

"What’s going on here?" he asked.

"I got Veritaserum," Hermione seethed, happily offering up information this time, "I'm being interrogated with invasive and inappropriate questions."

"Hmmm," he surveyed the people standing round and slung an arm over Hermione’s shoulders, "Say, who's your very best friend, Hermione?"

"You are, you twat," she gave him a sharp poke.

"That's my girl," he laughed and kissed her temple.

"You're supposed to help, not join in!" she protested.

"Well maybe me helping depended on your answer," he teased.

"Flake pickle jump clock," Ron muttered. 

"Alright folks!" Harry announced, "Let’s keep this civilized, yeah? Remember who you’re dealing with: she can and will hex you into next week if you get out of line. Keep it on the up and up."

"So, what do you reckon, Hermione- could Harry have done it without you?" Oliver Wood joshed from the back of the group, which was now two or three people deep in places.

She looked up into her best friend's bright green eyes with a smug smile, "Absolutely not."

Harry laughed and grinned down at her with profound affection, "Well everyone knows  _ that _ ."

"Going to be Minister for Magic, Hermione?" Percy asked with false levity.

She turned on him with narrowed eyes. Percy, the calculating git, definitely saw her as political competition. 

"It's truth serum, not prophecy fuel," she bit out. She understood his underlying question, but he hadn’t been direct enough to compel an answer. 

"Oi! Hermione!" George called, "Who's the best looking bloke you know?" He bounced his eyebrows suggestively, preening a little to draw a laugh.

Hermione sunk her teeth into her tongue, shaking her head as she felt the answer clawing its way up her throat. "Draco Malfoy," she choked out miserably.

Guffaws and exclamations of disbelief followed the scandalous revelation.

"Barnacles! Net faucet gum syrup! Buck hat!" Ron spluttered, clearly furious.

"She likes blondes, boys!" Dennis Creevey declared smugly, his voice still absurdly deep.

Alicia catcalled, "Go on, what do you like about him?"

Hermione looked at Alicia in disbelief as the answer began its advance up to her traitorous mouth, "His body, that arse, how tall he is, the hair, his eyes- the- the posh accent.  _ His hands, _ " she rambled miserably, details plucked from her most secret fantasies pouring forth, "His beautiful neck and-and- just the whole thing, all of it.  _ Fuck!  _ Fuckfuckityfuckfuck!"

That sent Ron on a good long ramble. Even Harry stepped back with wide eyes and a shocked ' _ Hermione!' _ .

If she didn't think she would splinch herself she would have apparated on the spot. She was  _ never _ going to live this down. Nearly twenty people must have heard that confession.

Somehow she had become the evening's entertainment, which was really saying something given that the entire party was practically a circus sideshow at this point. 

She looked around desperately for an ally. Ginny was a ways off and had evidently imbibed a Strengthening Solution, given that she was apparently trying to lift Jimmy Peakes and Andrew Kirke simultaneously. 

Hannah was still manning the bar. Luna had drifted closer but she seemed preoccupied with Rolf's hair, which was bright green and standing on end. And while Harry’s faith in her ability to handle herself was generally appreciated, it was decidedly inconvenient at the moment.

"What did you think of Percy's last girlfriend?" Lee queried in his high-pitched, prepubescent voice.

"Vapid social climber," Hermione winced saying it, but it seemed relatively innocuous at this point. 

"Who's the smartest Weasley?" Angelina asked, looking mischievously up at George.

Hermione huffed a laugh, "Molly."

"Ever hook up with Kingsley?" Anthony Goldstein tried to play it off like a joke, but he was another ambitious Ministry worker she knew was trying to ferret out the competition.

"Of course not," she rolled her eyes, "Seriously, Anthony?"

"Ever have it off at work?" Parvati's question was laced with venom, her troll doll-esque hair now plaited and mostly hidden beneath a shawl she had put on. 

"N-no, really- not- really," Hermione ground out. It was sort of a technicality; she interpreted 'having it off' as full sex, but knew not everyone did. The potion was strong enough to make it a challenge.

"Ever snogged a witch?" Dean's voice was comically brittle with his newfound old age.

Hermione groaned and began looking for an exit that wouldn't qualify as out and out fleeing. Her answer was sliding inexorably toward the tip of her tongue. "Yes," she snapped, again working to keep back a fuller answer. 

Ginny had been very adamant before their third and fourth years that they needed to practice their snogging. There had also been a time or two more recently when she had been out at a muggle club and been drawn into laughing, panting, grinding snogs on the dance floor. 

"What all are you into, Granger?" Seamus asked, sounding slightly awed, as Alicia cackled: "Spill it, girl- what turns you on?"

Hermione’s brain ran riot and she could feel all of her fantasies being plundered, their contents distilling themselves to answers that were pushing up from her lungs, fighting to fly free from her lips.

Seamus and Alicia might not have been asking the questions in earnest, but the Veritaserum didn't make that distinction.

" _ Fucking hell _ , I-I," every muscle in her body clenched against the rising tide of intimate information she was holding behind her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms and her eyes squeezed shut. Still, it only took a moment for the pressure to become overwhelming and her secrets poured unrelentingly forth: "I like it rough, from someone tall and strong who could throw me around if they wanted to. Edging is- is- I want to be teased, toyed with, even tied up, before being fucked  _ hard _ . Feeling him come hard inside me, knowing it'll be dripping from me for hours; it's like being marked, and that's what I want. Bitemarks and bruises too. I love giving head, taking my time and taking him all in if I can, until he loses control and fucks my face. And-and danger. The idea of possibly being caught, or that we didn't use protection, doing it in places we shouldn't, or having a hand around my throat. And talking. I love it when a man says filthy, harsh, dirty things to me in bed or to get me going. I want him to tell me that I'm a good girl, to praise me or-or punish me."

The litany of kinks finally drew to a close. She took a shaky breath, forcing her eyes open even as she kept her gaze fixed on the ground. Her face felt so hot she could barely stand it, and she pressed the back of a hand to one of her burning cheeks.

It was so much quieter now than the raucous reactions to earlier revelations. 

The near silence was broken by an explosion of furious nonsense from Ron, "Duck bell alimony! Cut to walking shout floo bid true sue bat wreath! Grumbly cheek snifters pip dive!" On and on.

It spurred a chorus of 'bloody hells', ' _ Merlin _ s', 'what the fuck?s' and general whistles and catcalls.

Still, the pervasive muttering in indistinct low voices that followed was infinitely worse. Speculation, judgment. The beginning, she knew, of a  _ reputation _ . 

Poor Ron, still sputtering in impotent rage, with whom she had shared almost none of the proclivities she had named. More hurt feelings. Another blow to their still fragile friendship and Ron's always fragile ego. 

Hermione felt frozen, well beyond mortification now. She didn't know what to do to make this horrible situation end. She chanced a glance around, finding that no one would meet her eye. 

They had gone too far, she had said too much.

In the midst of a rising panic she registered someone gripping her elbow and looked up into kind hazel eyes.

"Want to take a walk?" Neville asked quietly. 

"Please," she swallowed hard, "Yes."

The gentle pressure of his hand against her lower back was reassuring as they walked off together. 

She couldn't hear anything beyond the blood pounding in her ears, Neville might have said something but it didn’t register. He pressed a drink into her hand; he had grabbed her cup from where she had abandoned it in the midst of all her involuntary confessions. 

She gratefully downed her drink and began to shake off her stupor. She tranfigured her cup into a jar that she filled with bluebell flames and sent floating a little ways in front of them.

"Thank you," she said shyly, looking up at him from the side of her eye.

"No worries. I hope you're alright," he offered a tentative smile, "I'll do my best not to ask any questions while the potion's still working."

"Thank you, I really appreciate it," she sighed and looped her arm through his, "The world needs more Neville Longbottoms."

He reached over to give her hand a squeeze. "Veritaserum was a horrible thing for someone to put in. I'm sorry that got so out of hand, I should've done something."

"Not your fault. I should've walked away sooner," she wrinkled her nose, "It's my own damn pride that's to blame."

"Occupational hazard of being a Gryffindor," he gave a wry smile, "We'll never learn."

"You seem to have escaped unscathed tonight, what was it you got?" she asked curiously, realizing he looked, sounded, and was acting the same as usual.

"Manegro," he chuckled, turning his head slightly so she could see the bun his newly elongated hair had been pulled into, "I nicked a hair elastic from Gin."

"Oh. It suits you, I think."

"I'd like to believe that’s a compliment, so I don’t think I'll be asking you if that's a good thing for a while yet," he grinned down into her face, and she was surprised when it sent a little thrill through her.

She was becoming increasingly aware of how firmly muscled the arm she was leaning against was, of how much skin to skin contact their arms were making now.

They walked on in comfortable silence from the yard, through the meadow where quidditch was usually played, and onto the path leading into the forest. The lights of the party were growing distant but the moon was nearly full and her jar of bluebell flames illuminated the path, lending an eerie blue glow to the undergrowth. 

It was an old forest, with tall trees that grew out of a sea of ferns and flowers. The foliage was sprinkled over with thousands of glow-worms emitting small pulsing green lights, like an earthly reflection of the constellations above. Even at night the woods were alive with the sounds of birds, insects, and frogs. 

There was nothing magical about it, but it was undeniably enchanting. It offered Hermione a moment of distraction from the pit in her stomach and the embarrassing scene that was playing on a loop in her head.

"It's just so  _ humiliating _ ," she finally whined, unable to physically contain the level of shame she was feeling any longer, "The things I said- how can I face anyone ever again? Merlin, what you must think of me…"

She drew her hand from Neville’s elbow and crossed her arms defensively, wishing she could just fold in on herself and hide away someplace.

"Hermione, it's really not that bad."

"It's  _ catastrophic.  _ You don't need to sugarcoat it for me, I was there. I know. I saw everyone's faces."

"It's not as terrible as you think, honestly. People were maybe a bit… surprised… to hear that from  _ you _ but it's not like you said anything outrageous," he reasoned, "Well, maybe the Malfoy thing."

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

"Sorry, sorry, only teasing," he patted her back consolingly, "What I meant is that people, even our friends- actually, especially our friends- don't expect us to change. Believe me, I know. They still see me as a chubby, hapless herbology nerd. You're still the brainy little Golden Girl. The idea that you're a grown witch with a sex life is a new one, but they'll get over it."

"I appreciate that, Neville, I do, but the things I said.. they weren't things people just say. To anyone. Ever. I mean, we're living in a society here."

He huffed a laugh, "Really, most of them are drunk or hopped up on Wideye Potion, they probably won't remember much. Though I'm sure the blokes will hang on to a few details."

He sounded a bit bitter at the last and Hermione peeked up at him, "What do you mean?"

"Hermione," Neville sounded almost pained, "What you said was incredibly… provocative. I don’t want to make you feel any more awkward but, Merlin, those lads will be thinking fondly about that for a good long time. Will probably try it on with you too."

He looked as close to sneering as Hermione had ever seen him. 

Was he… jealous? Hermione bit her lip, considering. The idea of a Neville who found what she had said  _ provocative _ , who didn’t like the idea of other men coming on to her, was kind of exciting. Gratifying in a way she couldn’t quite parse yet.

She ceased walking, reaching out for his wrist to stop him as well. Face to face now she was very aware that he was at least a foot taller than her, and found herself suddenly conscious of all his details; the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, the little scars smattered in his stubble, the way his khakis hung low on his hips.

"Neville," her voice came out a bit breathy, unsure, "What do  _ you  _ think about what I said?"

He cleared his throat and looked like he was struggling with something, "I… liked it. I really liked it."

She gave a little nod and resumed walking, studying the ground and making a show of avoiding some large roots that threaded their path, buying time to think. 

"Just so you know, I haven’t actually done all the things that I said back there. Some of it was extrapolation, or conjecture, sort of." She was grateful to be walking ahead of him as she rushed out this clarification. 

He made a vague noise of acknowledgement and then they walked a little ways in silence. 

"Do you think-- no, sorry, it's hard not to ask questions," Neville apologized then tried a different tack, "I was thinking that a bit of a quid pro quo might make you feel better." 

"A quid pro quo?" her heart sped up and she stopped walking again, turning to face him.

He cleared his throat nervously, "Yeah, I could maybe tell you some of my-"

"Yes, please," she cut in, looking up at him with wide eyes, suddenly very aware of the rise and fall of her chest.

He stepped closer. "Well, I have to say, what you said about liking it rough, I understand the appeal of that," his hand moved, almost unconsciously it seemed, to run down her arm, his fingers brushing her stomach and hip along the way, "And of course, I  _ am  _ still a herbology nerd, so there's obviously appeal to a greenhouse, and certainly something to be said for the outdoors," his voice pitched even lower and for a moment his eyes moved to the forest surrounding them, "There's something primal about that, being in nature, exposed and just instinctive. It almost seems… ritualistic. Like the pagans did it, the old ways."

Her breath hitched, "Have you done that before?"

"No, never." 

She summoned up all her Gryffindor bravery to murmur, "Would you like to?"

Neville’s eyes met hers with an incredible intensity, "Hermione, I'd like to ask you a question."

"Okay," she whispered. 

He reached up to run his fingers through her hair, sliding his hand around to the nape of her neck. He bent low and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then high on her left cheekbone, then just to the right of her mouth. 

He pulled back and looked at her steadily for a moment before asking, "Do you want this?" 

She surged up to capture his mouth with her own, mumbling "Yes" against his lips at the Veritaserum's insistence. 

The effect was instantaneous. Neville’s arms wound about her and he kissed her back hungrily.

She remembered her first kiss with Ron and the awkward awareness she'd had that they were  _ friends whose mouths were touching _ . With Neville, she found there a confidence that came from knowing him well, but enough lusty heat to drive away any remotely platonic thoughts. 

He was uncharted territory and she wanted to explore everywhere. Her hands moved restlessly over his hips, up his back, along his broad shoulders, finding nothing but firm, flexing muscle beneath her fingertips. She wanted to press more fully against him but the difference in their heights made it impossible without breaking their kiss, and forfeiting the things he was doing with his lips and tongue was unthinkable. She whimpered in frustration. 

Neville seemed to be thinking along the same lines because in the next instant his hand was sliding inside the wrap of her dress, pulling it open, before lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around him and thrilled at the feel of her core, now covered by nothing but her tiny knickers, being spread wide and pushed flush against his abdominals. 

He pulled away from her lips and began a kissing, biting path down her neck. He sucked hard at the base of her throat and she moaned at both the sensation and the thought of what a mark it would leave.

"Still okay?" he panted.

"Yes, definitely, yes."

"I want you to say 'mandrake' if anything's not okay," he said between his ministrations, "Will you do that?"

"Y-yes," she managed, then he laid a biting, sucking kiss just above her collarbone and she cried out, "Yes! God, Neville, yes."

"Good girl."

She whimpered and began to grind against him, getting some of the friction she desperately craved. He pulled aside the top of her dress to find her breasts pouring out of a too-small red brassiere, part of a lacy matching set she couldn’t resist wearing with her red dress in spite of the skimpy fit. 

He pulled one cup aside to expose an ample breast with a rosy nipple, stiffened from rubbing against his chest. 

"You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Neville fairly growled, "I want every inch of you. I am going to touch, lick, fuck every little bit."

He bent his head and she felt the drag of his teeth on her breast before he took the nipple in his mouth, sucking and pulling. 

Neville’s hand snaked over her hip and between her legs, rubbing roughly through her dress until she felt the slightest penetration of her entrance by a large, curling, fabric-covered finger. 

It was an unbelievable turn on to have good, sweet Neville with her nipple between his teeth, his hand between her legs, saying the filthiest things she'd ever heard. 

Hermione was moving instinctively against him, her back arching with tension as she neared her breaking point. "Please, more- I'm getting close," she begged.

Neville left off his attentions to her breast and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Then his hand stilled. She pulled back to look at him, dazed, her brow furrowed.

"Not letting you off that easy," he said, and never had his sweet smile looked so wicked. He kissed her again and set her down.

He pulled at the tie at her waist, which was already loose, then pushed her dress off her shoulders to pool on the dirt path.

As he reached around to twist open the clasp on her bra he leaned in close, nipping at her earlobe, whispering raggedly, "I want you laid out skyclad on the earth, completely exposed." 

Then he pulled her knickers down, leaving her naked before him.

She was transfixed by the look on his face as his hands roamed everywhere, paying the same reverent attention to her wrists, collarbones, and stomach as he did to her breasts and her thighs. 

When she began to unbutton his shirt he withdrew his wand, casting over her shoulder. She recognized a cushioning charm but couldn't identify the second spell he cast. She glanced back to find a small circular area had formed just to the side of the path, where the ferns and other plants had flattened, blanketing the forest floor. 

Hermione smiled impishly up at him, "Clever."

"Plants are usually pretty accommodating," he offered with a lopsided grin, before shrugging out of his shirt.

She opened her mouth to make some cheeky reply but, confronted with his bare chest, she lost her train of thought. All thoughts. She had no thoughts. 

It took her a moment to recover. She knew he was fit and she knew kissing him was delightful, but that had somehow still not prepared her for how viscerally attractive the man was. Attractive in a very primal, screaming-ovaries, soak-your-knickers, have-you-a-fainting-chaise? sort of way.

He was all muscles and tan. She wasn't usually one for chest hair, but in the context of a man who was about to throw her down in the forest and rut her like it was Beltane, she found it rather suited.

Kissing, walking, stumbling Neville guided her back to the little space he’d prepared for them and eased her to the ground. Kneeling between her legs he looked down at her with an awestruck expression, 

"Merciful Morrigan, look at you all spread out for me." He leaned over her and brought a hand to her neck, giving a gentle squeeze, before trailing it down between her breasts, then lower to her stomach. 

"Such a little thing," he said wonderingly. He laid both his hands flat at the small of her waist, nearly circling it. She began to squirm impatiently under his touch as his fingers roved over her hips, petting from her navel down to her mound. 

"This is hardly fair," she grumbled and reached up for his belt, drawing a chuckle from him. She unclasped the buckle and then flicked open the button of his khakis, drawing down the fly. He tugged down his trousers and pants, twisting away to kick them off. When he returned to his place between her thighs he was bare.

Hermione’s eyes flew wide at the sight and suddenly she understood his preoccupation with her size. Neville Longbottom had easily the largest cock she had ever seen.

It was like a book with a twist ending that threw the whole story into a new light: all through his awkward adolescence, his bravery in the war, and now his mild mannered professorial persona, there had been this somewhat definitive sexual trump card hidden away.

She looked between his rather massive appendage and her own abdomen where her stomach dipped between her hip bones. She tried to imagine how they could possibly fit together. 

It was daunting and arousing in equal measure. 

"I don't have my wand," she glanced meaningfully at her abdomen, where she would typically aim a contraceptive charm.

His eyes bore into hers, "Do we need it?"

"No, I don't think we do," Hermione thrilled at the thought. She was a smart witch, she knew her cycle, and the timing couldn't be better.

He kissed her fiercely and she sucked lightly at his tongue to draw him in. Her hips lifted from the earth, seeking his. 

"Good," he shifted so that she felt the velvety head of his cock brushing at the apex of her thighs, "I don't want anything between us tonight."

She reached for him, but had only wrapped a hand around his girthy shaft when he pulled her away. "None of that yet, love," he took hold of her other hand as well and pressed them over her head, "Now, do you need a sticking charm or can you be good?"

Her mouth went dry. "I can be good."

"I hope so. I know you, Hermione," he said darkly as he kissed down her neck, roughly palming a breast, "You always know all the rules, but that never stops you breaking them, does it?"

"N-no,"  _ Veritaserum never rests, _ she whinged internally, "But I can be good. I can be good for you."

His eyes flashed to hers and she could've sworn she saw his pupils dilate, "Fuck, Hermione, I'm going to have to buy a Pensieve after this."

He then busied his mouth with blazing a trail south; roving over the hills of her breasts, down the valley of her stomach, delving his tongue into the well of her navel, before moving to explore the oasis between her thighs. 

He worked her over with broad swipes of his tongue, testing and tasting. She squirmed but obediently kept her hands over her head. She felt the pull of his lips and the probe of his tongue, alternately teasing her clit and sliding between her folds.

Seeing his head between her legs, with that new manbun, it was just more of the unexpected from her oldest friend, and it only made her more aroused. 

She was pulled from her contemplation of expectations versus reality by a sharp nip to her inner thigh and she squealed at the unexpected pain. He kissed the spot tenderly then repeated the action on her other thigh. She braced for more pinching little bites but instead felt the thrust of his fingers entering her, working her open, curling to find the right spot. She arched off the ground in ecstatic surprise then writhed down against his hand. She rode his fingers as he alternately nipped her thighs and tongued her clit, over and over, until she wasn’t sure whether she was closer to sobbing or orgasm. Her arms were still held over her head but they were shaking with the effort it took to keep them there instead of digging her hands into his hair to hold his face to her cunt until she finally found relief.

"I'm so close! Don't stop, don't stop, oh  _ fuck _ , I'm so close!" she babbled.

He stopped.

He crawled over her, kissed her with a rolling, languid passion, and let the head of his cock rub teasingly along her folds. She could taste her own savory tang on his tongue and chased it, licking and sucking.

When he broke away it was to kiss his way back down and then rock his knuckles against her centre while he set his mouth to work on her clit.

"Neville," she whimpered brokenly, "Nev."

"What do you want, love?" he rasped, licking his lips as he looked up at her from between her trembling legs.

"I need you. Please fuck me,  _ please _ . I can’t take any more."

" _ Such _ a good girl, such a perfect, perfect little witch," Neville groaned, his hands ran up and down her body, "Roll over for me now."

Hermione obeyed, breathing hard as she pressed her forehead into soft fern leaves. The evening air felt cool against her naked back and she heard something small scamper through the brush nearby, though she couldn’t see anything through the thick curtain of her hair.

Neville wrapped his hands around her hips and drew them up, "It'll be easier for you like this. Morrigan- this  _ arse, _ " He began to knead the firm, rounded globes that she pressed back to him, "Always knew you were bloody gorgeous, but your body-," he let put a long exhale. She felt the loss of one of his hands and then the prodding tip of his cock at her entrance, "Pensieve. Tomorrow."

Then she felt him finally,  _ finally _ sliding in. She moaned and wiggled at the promise of some relief for the tension that felt almost suffocating. He was moving agonizingly slowly but it just kept going; more and more stretch as he filled her, pushing steadily against the resistance of her tight pussy. She sucked in a harsh breath as a sharp pain surprised her, then bowed her back to find a new angle.

"Almost there," Neville’s voice was strained, "Say if you want me to stop. Almost- almost-"

He gave a shuddering breath as she felt the press of his hips against her and had an odd little swell of pride when knew she had taken in all of him. He began to move, tentatively.

"You're okay? Does it hurt?" he checked.

"Yes, but it’s good. So good. I'm- more. Please, more," she gasped.

"Always precocious," his thrusts became more decisive, "You said you wanted it rough, wanted to be  _ fucked hard _ . Do you want that now?"

"Yes! Yes I want it!"

“Always exceeding expectations,” he jabbered, “You’re so good, so fucking good. Always, always-”

He began pulling out further, pushing back in more forcefully, driving into her relentlessly. Her cunt was clenching and flexing around his length, forced to take more than it ever had before. She felt so full, like he had found some space in her beyond her cunt to fill.

Neville's grip on her hips was bruising. "Doing this out here- the full moon- do you feel it? This is old magic. I can feel it building, feel it-  _ there, _ " he thrust deep. 

She did feel it. The expansiveness of the forest, the silvery light of the moon, and their uninhibited and unprotected coupling were all coalescing, swelling within her. If she'd had a wand in hand she'd no idea what might happen. 

Neville’s arm slid up under her chest and he pulled her up until she was leaning back against his chest. He reached around to fondle her breasts and she felt completely enveloped by his larger frame.

Her moans were nearing the register of a scream and in the middle of a forest she had no idea how far the sound might carry. Somehow she either didn't care or couldn't help herself, she couldn't parse such subtleties right now. 

He continued driving up into her with a rough abandon, pulling her tight to him so that she could feel his rumbling sort of growl in her own chest, "I want you to tell me when you're about to come, will you do that?"

"No," she whimpered, looking up over her shoulder at him. She was still compelled to speak truthfully.

His eyebrows shot up, "No?"

"I'll try, I'll try to, but I want to come so badly- Neville,  _ please _ ," she panted, feeling like she could cry with how badly she wanted it. Her whole body was nothing but aching want.

He pulled out of her and she whined in a way that would have been absolutely mortifying if she'd had the mental capacity for such a thing. He half lifted her to turn her round and lay her down on the forest floor. He laid himself over her, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss as he buried his cock in her once more. 

He pulled and twisted at her nipples, seemingly fixated by the bounce of her large breasts as he bucked into her. "I want to see your face when you come. Want to feel all of you."

"You feel so good. So fucking good," she chanted.

Her hand drifted down below her navel, questing for her clit, but she jerked and gasped when she felt his cock pushing against her palm. She nearly came right then, feeling his thrusts distending her stomach over and over.

She grabbed for Neville’s hand and pressed it flat against her, over the little bulge that was insistently rising and retreating.

"Do you feel that?" she panted, "It's you."

" _ Morrigan,  _ fuck- Hermione," he groaned, "That’s-- you're such a little thing and look at how you take me. So good. Such a good girl."

Her face was pressed against his shoulder and as his words sent her right up to the verge of oblivion she bit hard into the muscle there, stifling a scream.

He hissed, "You're going to make me come so deep, so much- it's going to be spilling out of you, all over the soil. We're going to mark this place in the old way.  _ Fuck _ , Hermione, I'm- I'm going to-"

_ "Please, now, please!"  _ she begged incoherently. She wasn't sure if she was screaming, crying, or biting. Maybe all three. 

He was going to come with nothing between them, no pill, potion, condom, or charm. He was going to fill her rapacious little cunt until she overflowed. 

Suddenly her magic was singing in her veins and she was falling over the edge of the cliff she had thought Neville might make her live on the brink of for forever. 

She vaguely registered Neville yelling hoarsely above her. She twisted and writhed as her orgasm ripped through her. Her muscles were contracting with futility around Neville’s cock, with no real room to move, and then she felt the pressure of his release filling her beyond capacity. It was like being hit with another orgasm before the last had finished cresting and her vision actually darkened around the edges. It radiated out to the very tips of her fingers, riotous energy flowing out to Neville, to the forest floor, out  _ beyond _ .

Neville collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, still pulsing erratically around his cock, feeling their come leaking from her, warm and sticky.

They lay there for a couple minutes, panting and boneless before he rolled to his back, pulling her with him and wrapping her in strong arms.

"Holy fuck, Neville," she slurred, nuzzling into his shoulder. 

She heard his breath catch. "Look," he said wonderingly. 

She turned her head to where his gaze was fixed, just behind her. Through the ferns and flowers that carpeted their little circle of the forest the ground was softly glowing blue. "Wow," she breathed, “Did you do that?”

“I think  _ we _ did that. Do you know what it is?”

She turned back to him with a furrowed brow, “I don’t know. I’d have to go to-”   
“The library,” he finished for her, with a broad grin. 

A giggle bubbled up her throat. "Well," she choked out, "Might be something to add to your Herbology curriculum." And then they were both laughing helplessly, high on endorphins and overwhelmed by the thousand improbable turns the evening had taken. 

He kissed her as their laughter finally began to subside, playfully brushing his stubble against her cheek, “I might have been wrong about the Manegro. Must’ve been Felix Felicis.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Hermione plucked one last reference book from her shelf and tucked it into the brown leather satchel laying open on her bed. A fresh stack of parchment was retrieved from atop her dresser and, after a long moment of hesitation, a pair of knickers also made their way into the bag. 

She gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Even at half eight in the morning it was already obvious the day would be scorching, so she'd worn a light linen breton stripe top with little black shorts, securing her long hair into a messy bun. She slung the thick strap of her satchel over her shoulder and gave her reflection an affirmative nod.

She was ready to go to Hogwarts.

After the party-of-which-she-did-not-speak she had been determined to get to the bottom of the magical phenomenon she and Neville had experienced in the forest. After fruitlessly consulting her own book collection, the limited relevant offerings at the Ministry, as well as the library at Grimmauld Place, she had requested and received permission to visit the Hogwarts library for her ‘personal research project’. Headmistress McGonagall had owled her approval, along with her sincere regrets that she wouldn't be there herself to get in a visit. She did, however, offer her assurances that the staff member staying at the castle through the summer months- Professor Longbottom- would be happy to receive her.

It's not that Hermione felt awkward. Per se. After her slew of humiliating public confessions two weeks ago she wasn't sure she was even capable of proper embarrassment anymore. It's more a case of not knowing what to expect. 

Rules, plans, and protocols were generally her lifeline, but whatever etiquette there might be for après-sex with your oldest friend eluded her completely. 

She took a deep breath.  _ Nothing to worry over _ , she reassured herself, there was no one kinder or braver than Neville. One night couldn't possibly do irreparable harm to their relationship. Even if thinking of said night left her feeling about seven different kinds of flustered.

Hermione retrieved a couple diet Cokes from her fridge to sustain her through the morning. Even though she hadn’t been a student for years and Madam Pince wouldn’t be there, smuggling them into the library still felt positively delinquent. 

Having wrapped up her mental pep talk, she slipped into her shoes by the fireplace, put her Gryffindor game face on, and grabbed a handful of floo powder, calling out “Hogwarts!” as she threw it overhead.

A moment later she was stepping into the Headmistress’ office to be greeted by a smiling Neville Longbottom, leaning against the Headmistress’ desk with a book in hand, looking every bit the off-duty professor in khakis and a gray polo.

"Hermione," he smiled, straightening.

"Neville," she greeted, “The manbun lives!” 

"Ha, yeah," he touched his hair self consciously, "Till the start of term anyway."

"We match," she tipped her head to indicate her own bun as she moved toward him. She went on tiptoe to offer a friendly buss, but found herself in a perilous game of chicken between his lips and cheek. After the longest two seconds of her life she landed on his cheek with what she hoped was a discomfort dispelling chuckle.

"I hope I'm not putting you out by dropping in like this." She ignored the portrait of Dumbledore, who looked altogether too  _ knowing _ .

"Oh yes, you're quite the imposition," he gestured toward the descending staircase and followed as she moved past him, "I've had to shuffle all sorts of pressing appointments. You've no idea- castle's in an uproar. My geraniums are inconsolable." 

As they emerged into the echoing emptiness of the corridor outside she gave him the side eye. They turned toward the library.

Neville smiled, "It's just me, Hagrid, and Filch here through the summer, so yeah, your visit isn’t all that hard to cope with."

"And you're here all summer? Seems awfully... quiet."  _ Lonely  _ felt like too significant a word.

He shrugged, "It suits for now. Hagrid and I take tea, and I try to visit Gran and head down to the Leaky once in a while. Honestly, after living with hundreds of kids for months on end you learn the merits of solitude."

"I bet you're a very popular professor," she mused, thinking back to her own Gilderoy Lockhart fangirl days and imagining there were probably a fair few students with an outsized interest in herbology now that the professor was a ruggedly handsome war hero. 

"They don't seem to mind me too much. Probably because I'm a- what was it one of them called me?" his mouth gave a wry twist, "Ah yes, a 'human marshmallow'. But they're good kids, I don't need to get tough with them too often."

"Bit hard to imagine you as a disciplinarian."

"Is it?" he raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Hermione’s eyes flew wide at the implication, "Oh, maybe not." She cleared her throat. 

Neville gave a low chuckle, slid his hands into his pockets, and let a quiet moment pass as they descended a stone staircase.

"So, this  _ personal research  _ of yours- is that anything to do with mysteriously glowing soil?" he ventured.

"You didn't think I'd just let that go, did you?"

"I suppose not. Found anything interesting yet?"

"Not a thing," she gave a deep sigh, "I'm starting to think that what I'm looking for is the sort of thing only found in old, personal book collections. It's so strange. There's clearly legitimate magic involved; someone, somewhere must have recorded _something_ about it."

Neville nodded, "I mean, I'm aware of it in old magic, Celtic traditions, in general terms- uh, sex magic, that is- but it's not something I've ever seen anything specific about." He looked thoughtful for a moment, "If you don't find anything here you'd be welcome to check my family library. There's definitely sections there that haven't been touched in a few generations and my family has always respected the old ways."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," she saluted as they drew up in front of the library.

"Of course I'll want to come along if you go," he grinned down at her, "Wouldn't want to miss you explaining to Gran what you're looking for."

"Neville!" she swatted his arm, " _ Merlin _ ."

"Well, I suppose I best leave you to it. Come find me after? I should be in my classroom."

"I will. Thanks," she smiled.

"Good. Try not to have too much fun, yeah?" he winked, giving a nod to the library, before he turned to go. "If you don't show by sundown I'll form a search party," he called back over his shoulder, “Me and Mrs. Norris.”

She flipped him off in grand style and his answering laugh echoed down the hall. 

Hermione’s eyes followed him as he walked off in the direction of the greenhouses. 

No, not walked,  _ strolled _ . 

Adult Neville always seemed to move with a leisurely confidence. It brought up an odd mixture of pride and attraction to see him looking so self assured in the same place he'd spent so many years habitually wary and unsure. 

She gave herself a mental shake and stepped into the library; she really needed to get a handle on her libido's new Neville fixation. She silently vowed to lock it down and stop letting Neville’s perplexing sex appeal distract her. 

It was a noble but fruitless resolution.

Instead, she spent the next several hours mentally replaying their forest encounter in fine detail and imagining them in a vast array of other scenarios as she pored over text after text on ritualistic sex and other magic suffused intimacies. 

On the highest shelves of the restricted section there was a veritable bounty of relevant books. Enough to ensure she would definitely be looking askance at Madam Pince when she saw her next.

Hermione took copious notes. The material ranged from the salacious to the unsettling to the ridiculous, some of it explicit to the point of excess and some so coy that it was nearly indecipherable.

Against all her instincts, she gave serious thought to destroying one slim volume for the greater good. 

There were things that were relevant to what she and Neville had experienced, things she surreptitiously recorded for future personal use, things she noted as curiosities, dangers, anomalies, and points that merited further investigation.

She was alternately alarmed, aroused, and aggravated.

Almost five hours later she set aside her quill, shook out her cramping hand and stretched in her chair, cracking and popping joints in a move so familiar in these surroundings that she had to laugh. As much as all the jokes about her being a bookworm had long since worn thin, she couldn’t deny that returning to the Hogwarts library felt very much like coming home.

She packed up her bag, lanced her wand through her bun, and took a wandering path toward the exit, basking in nostalgia and running her fingertips fondly along enticing book spines as she went.

The library was temperature controlled to preserve the books, but back out in the castle halls the cellar-like cool of the ground level gradually gave way to the day's heat as she made her way up to the third floor. When she walked into Neville’s classroom it was warmer still, with one wall and half the sloping ceiling being made of leaded glass.

It hadn’t changed much from Professor Sprout's days. Plants hung from the ceiling and lined the walls, work stations that accommodated two students were set in rows facing the professor's desk. 

It was a bit surreal to see Neville sitting there at the front of the classroom though. The idea of him as a professor had been decidedly abstract until this moment.

"Success?" he looked up from whatever he'd been writing to offer a smile.

"God, Nev, I don't even know where to start."

He summoned a chair up to his desk, and she settled into it, dropping a large stack of parchment down. 

"Want to have a bit of lunch and tell me about it?"

"That would be lovely, thanks," she smiled gratefully. 

He summoned an elf to request sandwiches and tea, which took only a few minutes to retrieve.

"Sorry, I know how you feel about elves,” he apologized as they tucked in, “But they don't take well to me preparing meals myself. I suspect they see me as something of a fire hazard in the kitchen, and they're at loose ends with no one else here."

"I suppose that makes sense," she conceded.

"The fire hazard bit, or the loose ends bit?” 

She quirked a smile over her teacup, "Isn't it obvious?"

“Very flattering, ta,” he laughed, "Anyway, why don’t you tell me what you found scouring the naughtiest bits of the library."

"First of all, you joke, but you don’t know the half of it; I clearly overlooked a lot of that restricted section in my youth. The things I've seen today, the things I can't unknow…” she shook her head mournfully, “But, I did find quite a lot that might be relevant to," she gestured vaguely, "Us. Basically, by chance and coincidence we brought together elements from all kinds of different spells and rituals."

"Really? But we didn't  _ do _ anything," his eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth, and he looked away, flustered, "Well, I mean, we did, y'know, many things, I just mean-" 

Hermione threw up a hand; drawing on her recent transcendence of self consciousness. "No- I, yeah, I know. Um, I'll just run through what I think might have been involved, yeah? For starters, not only was it a full moon but there was the Venus trine Pluto transit as well. Being out in the woods, starkers, in a circle, not using protection, the, uh, simultaneous finishing-- all of that are pretty consistent ritual elements."

"Makes sense," he nodded, daring eye contact once again.

"Not to mention the only thing being worn between the two of us was my necklace, which-" she pulled a small gold pendant out from under her shirt to show him, "This was a gift after the war. See the rune there? It translates to 'strength through unity', of all things, so that definitely wasn't doing us any favours. There are also a lot of references in the literature to the act being ’unfettered’, which could be understood a few different ways, but I think what we did would certainly qualify. The Veritaserum takes it to a whole new level, really. And that’s not even mentioning that spell you used to create the circle. Some sort of  _ cedovis _ charm, was it?”

“Yeah,  _ cedovis lucus _ ."

"Oof," Hermione winced at the incantation's etymological connotations of 'yielding', 'life', and 'sacred'.

"Plus there was a lot of knotgrass about; some primrose too, though.”   
“Yeesh," she winced, "It’s a jumble of things I guess, but obviously we cobbled together something out of it.”

“So… what  _ was _ it then? The glowing?”

"Well, I don’t want to be dramatic about this, but I’d say we pretty much lay there afterward cuddling on a powder keg. Just a mass of raw, undirected magic."

He leaned back, crossing his arms to think for a minute, “I guess that’s probably the best case scenario. The alternative would be that we accidentally accomplished something we don’t know about.”   
“The thought had occurred," she swallowed a final bite of her sandwich and brushed her hands off, "Fortunately intention counts for a lot, so that should spare us from anything too unpleasant. Honestly, Hogwarts really need to add sex magic to the curriculum. It’s bloody dangerous stuff you can just stumble into.”

“If only Snape were still around to teach it,” Neville smirked.

“Tchah, Neville!” she recoiled, “As if I haven’t had enough disturbing mental images today.”

“Well, in lieu of that, have any warnings you’d like to impart?”   
“Not really. Now that we’re aware of it, I’m sure we’d notice any red flags. Although I have to say, the possibilities of this kind of magic are… intriguing.”   
He shifted in his seat, "Yeah?"

"Some very interesting possibilities, if you ask me. I mean, look at what we did without even trying."

"Perhaps we have a natural talent for it," he ventured.

"People  _ do _ tend to have natural affinities for different branches of magic."

He held her gaze for a long minute, "It would be a shame to let that go to waste, don't you think?" 

"A travesty, really," a smile tugged at her lips as she felt the little knot of anxiety that she’d been harbouring for two weeks unwind, "Wasted research opportunity and all."

He looked relieved, "Very true."

"I mean, we did seem to be pretty excellent at… it."

"I didn't want to be the one to say, but  _ yeah." _

"Maybe we should take a look through some of this-" she nodded at the stack of materials she'd compiled, "And find a…  _ research opportunity _ that suits."

"We owe it to posterity, really."

" _ Absolutely _ . There’s another full moon in two weeks, you know."

"Yes, yes, we should do that. Definitely. In the meantime though, it might be prudent to, uh, practice, don't you think?"

She laughed and stood, beginning to walk around to Neville’s side of the desk, "At long last, something I'm not the only one keen to study for."

With a casual tap of his wand against the desk the surface cleared itself of clutter. "If this were on the curriculum I'm sure you'd have had study partners queueing up," his eyes traveled over her, lingering on her bare legs. 

"That's not a bad line, Neville."

"You don't need to sound  _ that _ surprised," he gave her one of his startlingly sexy lopsided smiles, tilting his head up to look at her now that she stood so close.

"Yes, I do. You being all fit is one thing," she took his face between her hands, running her thumbs back and forth through his stubble, "I don't know if I'm equipped to handle you being fit  _ and _ a flirt." 

"Hey, who’s sweet talking who here?"

Even being seated he was nearly eye level with her. She only had to dip her head slightly to capture his lips with her own in a languid kiss that tasted of mint tea. 

His tongue brushing hers was the reassuring answer to the question that has hung heavy in the air since she arrived. 

Neville’s arms circled her, pulling her in until she was climbing onto his lap, bracketing his hips with her knees. The kiss became more fervent when she felt his arousal growing hard and insistent between her thighs and he groaned as she began to rock against it. 

The idea that she was doing this with  _ Neville _ still gave her a particular kind of thrill, like she was breaking some sort of rule and needed to move quickly before someone realized and tried to stop her. 

He broke their kiss and unceremoniously took hold of her shirt hem to pull it up and off, revealing her simple powder blue bra.

He cupped and fondled her breasts as she moved to kiss down his neck. After their previous encounter she'd been covered with little bruises that evidenced his extensive exploration of her body. Now, she wanted to return the favour. He bucked up into her as she lay a hard, sucking bite at the base of his throat. The idea of  _ doing things _ to a man like him, of making him lose control, was an intoxicating one. 

She slithered down from his lap to settle between his legs. She smiled up at him with a look of predatory anticipation as she twisted open the button of his khakis and drew down the zip. 

"Hermione-" 

She sat back on her heels and drew her wand from her bun. First she banished his trousers and pants, then she pointed the wand at herself, muttering one of the helpful little spells she'd learned only that morning.

Her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the tall, proud length of his cock. Up close and in the light of day it was even more than she'd remembered.

"Hermione," he tried again, "You don't have to-"

She moved back to her knees and shoved his shirt up to his shoulders, "Trust me, I  _ want _ to." She raked her fingers back down his taut stomach, finding the dark hair spread across his chest and trailing down from his navel softer than she expected. He was tan here too and his abdominal muscles flexed instinctively at her touch.

She took her time, kissing and lightly grazing her nails over his thighs and the grooves of muscle leading down from his hips, until he was shifting impatiently in his chair. He drew a sharp breath when she finally took him in hand, though she couldn’t wholly encircle his girth. She licked a teasing stripe up his length, pausing to suck lightly at the ridge of its head before tonguing circles around the tip. Her fingers were lightly tapping and tugging at his bollocks as she continued her teasing exploration with her tongue.

She looked up through her eyelashes to find Neville had one hand gripping his hair and the other hovering uncertainly by his knee, like he wanted to reach for the back of her head. Perfect. 

"Fuck, Hermione," he breathed, "If you could- I just-"

"Tell me. I want to hear you," she murmured before she finally wrapped her lips around him and took him into her mouth. She slid her tongue against him and bobbed over the sensitive head of his cock.

"Yesss," he hissed, "Like that.  _ Fuck _ you look unbelievable. Just like that. On your knees for me, and-" he cut himself off with a little start as her fingers curled around to begin rubbing little circles into his perineum.

Her other hand moved in tandem with her mouth, as she gradually worked to take more of him in, testing the limits of the spell she'd cast to rid herself of a gag reflex. Neville’s hand finally gripped at the nape of her neck and she moaned a little around him. She backed off, hollowing her cheeks as she went, then plunged down again, taking as much as she could. It wasn’t all, but it was damn close and Neville definitely hadn't expected it.

" _ Fuck! _ " he jerked instinctively, forcing himself a little further down her throat and causing her to choke a little,"Sorry, sorry!  _ Fuck _ , that’s good. Should've known- you've always had such a bloody clever mouth- looks so pretty, so pretty around my cock.” She hovered there, looking at him and giving an encouraging hum, until he began rocking into her with his cock buried deep in her throat. His hands cradled her head in an incongruously tender manner as he fucked her face until he made a strangled noise, “I'm not- I'm going to-"

Hermione pulled away, leaning back as she pumped him with her hand. She wanted to see him come, wanted to wear the evidence of what she'd done to him. 

He jackknifed and with a guttural moan he found his release, painting her chest with heavy ribbons of come. It dripped down over the swell of her breasts and she captured a bead on her fingertip, bringing it to her lips for an experimental taste. As the salty tang rolled over her tongue she glanced up to find Neville looking at her like he'd suffered some sort of massive internal collapse.

"That was, um," Neville ducked his head, gripping his armrests, "I'ma need a minute."

Hermione was self satisfaction incarnate.

She hopped up on his desk, leaning back on her hands with an easy smile, swinging her legs a little. She discreetly cast a little spell to tidy herself up.

"Hey, do you think our teachers ever did this?" she said after a minute, bouncing her eyebrows suggestively.

Neville recoiled, "Merciful Morrigan,  _ I hope not." _

"Can you imagine?" she mused, scrunching up her nose.

"Thanks to you, that's probably what I'll be doing next staff meeting," he shuddered, "Ergh- Slughorn, Trelawney, Hooch,  _ Flitwick _ \- there are no good answers here."

“Yeah, I did not think that through,” she pulled a face, "Did you ever have fantasies about this while we were at school? Fooling around here, I mean."

"Hermione, I spent my entire adolescence at this school. I had fantasies about having sex in pretty well every nook and cranny of the castle. Most of the grounds too."

"Fair," she grinned, "I used to have a recurrent classroom fantasy myself."

"Is that so?" 

"Mmhmm. I'd get a detention that I'd have to serve alone with my professor in his classroom that evening. Completely undeserved of course, since there was no bigger turn off at the time than doing poorly in class, but the professor would always make very sure that I learned my lesson."

The fantasy professor had been a rather vague sort of figure; unsurprisingly, trying to make Snape, or even Lupin, fit the role got her exactly nowhere. Professor  _ Longbottom _ , however...

" _ Miss Granger _ ," Neville’s tone was suddenly authoritative, "I think that brilliant mind of yours is really quite depraved. I'm personally  _ shocked _ by what you've just told me. It's no wonder you weren't focused in my class today."

Hermione sat up straighter. He was looking at her with a challenge in his eyes and mischief playing on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Professor Longbottom," she said, trying to sound contrite, "I suppose I might have gotten a little distracted."

His hands began running up and down her bare calves. "I expected more from someone who's such an example to her peers. I have to say, I'm very disappointed."

Her face fell immediately and she looked so genuinely crushed at the reprimand that he struggled to maintain his composure and rushed to soften the blow, "We'll have to do something about this, won't we? Are you prepared to show me that you can concentrate on your herbology?"

"Yes," she nodded vigorously, her heart rate speeding up, "I can do better."

"Good, I'm pleased to hear it," he twisted open the button on her shorts and urged her bottom up so he could pull them down and away, revealing her little blue knickers, "Now, I want your hand down your knickers please, Miss Granger."

Her eyes widened but she hastily complied, stuffing her right hand down the front of her knickers, leaning back on her other arm for support. 

"I want you to touch yourself," Neville said, his voice a bit rough as he pulled off one of her shoes, then the other. He rubbed his thumbs into her arches soothingly, his large hands dwarfing her petite feet. 

Hermione had never done this in front of anyone before. She began to rub circles against her clit, her eyes fixed on Neville’s face, just below his eyes. She could feel her cheeks burning. While she had certainly done more than her fair share of wanking to the thought of Neville since the party, doing it in front of him was one of the few scenarios her imagination had failed to conjure. 

"Gods, you're sexy like that, and so good for me," he praised, "Now, can you tell me where one would find the flowers on a shrivelfig plant?"

It took her a moment to refocus. "The blossoms of the shrivelfig are found inside the plant's fruit. The fruit itself is the flower," she dutifully recited.

Neville tutted, "That's correct, but you've stopped touching yourself, haven't you? I need you to convince me that you can apply yourself to herbology even while there are… distractions."

Hermione took a sharp breath and began moving her hand again, "I'm sorry, Professor."

"I'm sure you'll do better," he gave her a little smile and then turned his attention back to the hand moving beneath her knickers, "Can you tell me where the shrivelfig is native to?"

She shifted, "Abyssinia."

"Good. Tell me, are you wet, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," she breathed, "Very, yes."

"I can see that. Poor little knickers are soaked through, aren't they?"

"Mmhmm," she began rocking against her hand, increasing the pressure against her clit.

Neville leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What are three uses of dittany?"

She bit her lip, taking a moment to marshall her thoughts. "Healing magic, potion making, and- and-" she frowned and her hand slowed, "In wand cores!" Her pace picked back up.

He nodded. "Very good. Can you tell me what you're doing to yourself, love?"

"Rubbing," Hermione swallowed, "Rubbing my clit."

"I want you to use your fingers, I want them inside you. Can you do that?" 

Hermione easily slipped two fingers inside her already slick channel and whimpered with both the feel of it and the intensity of Neville’s gaze on her as she did it. 

"How am I going to evaluate you if I can't see properly?" he wrapped a hand around her left foot and lifted it onto the desk, spreading her open to his view, "That's better."

She was much more exposed to him now, her pelvis tilted up and legs spread wide. It would have been embarrassing if it weren't for the positively rapturous expression on Neville’s face. Hermione released a shuddering breath and began to curl her fingers against the spot inside that always propelled her toward orgasm.

"Can you tell me what the danger of the dittany plant is?"

"It, um, it can release vapours, um, that are-are- that can catch fire," she doggedly answered.

"Excellent. You're doing so well," he laid a hand on her thigh, giving her an encouraging squeeze, "Can you add another finger for me?"

She was panting as she pulled her hand away to slip a third finger in. Her back began to arch and her toes to curl with the building tension.

"Good. Now then, can you tell me how to identify knotgrass? It's going to be on your NEWT, you know."

"It's a little plant, a-a low lying plant. Tiny flowers, white or-or-or pink, in summer, in-" she stuttered, "Roots. Tangly little roots. Thin… membraneous… stems." She pushed her fingers in deeper, as deep as she could go. 

"Such a good girl," his eyes were dark with desire as he looked up at her. She saw he was hard with renewed arousal and it spurred her on. "Are you getting close now?"

"So close," she whimpered, working her fingers harder and grinding her palm against her clit. 

Neville gave a low groan and looked almost pained. "Such a good girl. I want you to come for me. This is my desk, Hermione, where I write my lessons and grade essays. I want you to come all over my desk, riding your own hand," his fingers were digging into her thigh now, "I want you to earn that O."

That did it.

" _ Fuck, _ " her head fell back and she keened. The coil of tension abruptly released and flooded her chest with the swelling waves of her orgasm as she came in a gush of fluid, clenching around her own fingers. 

She pulled her hand free of her sticky knickers and leaned back, weak and panting. Neville stroked her hips and thighs, leaning in to pepper her with little kisses there, telling her how well she'd done, what a good, sweet little swot she was. 

She lazily brought a hand up to his head, threading her fingers into his hair and gently scratching his scalp. After a few leisurely minutes she began to squirm as his little kisses became more decisive, moving slowly but deliberately  _ closer _ .

He peeled her knickers away then bent to give a long, firm lick along her slit and up to her swollen little bud. 

"Would you say you learned your lesson, Miss Granger?" he looked up at her with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm not sure," she tried to look very serious as she elaborated, "It's just that herbology is so terribly  _ dull _ that it's hard to- agh!"

He attacked her ribs with tickling squeezes and she squealed, wiggling up the desk to escape.

"Philistine!" he shook his head at her with mock pique, "You're such a little brat."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she panted, clutching at her sides defensively. 

He hauled her back to the edge of the desk, bent down and kissed her soundly. He pulled back only a few inches to say, "Well, clearly, you've  _ no _ idea how to conduct yourself in a classroom and have not been appreciating my lessons  _ at all _ ."

"I promise to try harder, Professor," she said solemnly, closing the small distance to kiss him again. 

"Can you prove that to me?"

"I'd like to," she bit her lip, anticipation already building. 

"You'll have to work hard for it."

"I will," she rolled her hips up to brush her folds along the hard length of his arousal.

He gave a little hiss of surprise. "Very good. Now, turn around and bend over, Miss Granger."

She hurried to get in position, pressing her hips against the desk and bending at the waist. His hands roved over her back, unclasping her bra then leaving her to wriggle out of it while he divested himself of his shirt. 

"You said you were going to be good for me, didn't you?" he asked with an edge to his voice as he palmed her arse.

"Yes, I'll be good," she wiggled a little and stood on tiptoe, trying to entice him to further action. 

"Your attention to detail may be wanting, Miss Granger. Did you even think to use a contraceptive charm?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, I-I didn't think," she was genuinely shocked to have forgotten it entirely.

She felt the tap of his wand near her ribs and then a cool little swirl of magic low in her belly, letting her know the charm had taken effect. 

Neville gave a dramatic huff, " _ Teenagers _ ."

Hermione couldn’t quite keep back a giggle, peeking over her shoulder at him, "Gods, Neville." 

He wore a wide, boyish smile, "What?"

She turned back, shaking her head against the desk, "You're  _ adorable _ ."

"Adorable? Adorable is what you're going with?" he challenged.

She inhaled sharply as she felt the large, blunt head of his cock prod her entrance. Hermione cleared her throat, "Amongst other things." She swallowed and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk, bracing herself. 

He spread her and pushed in. She was practically purring in anticipation of being riven in that rough, adoring way that was so very  _ Neville _ . He slid home and she gave a gasping moan at the feeling of being so utterly full, then rolled her hips back only to find there was a little more to take.

“Gods,” he said hoarsely, as he began to drive into her with deliberate restraint, “Thought I imagined it. Imagined how amazing your pretty little cunt felt.”

Hermione was arching and bowing as he moved through her, adjusting to the onerous stretch. The wood of the desk was biting into her hip bones but she was grateful for the discomfort, pain was the only thing staving off an over-early orgasm. Her mind was alight with a carnal relish at getting fucked over a professor’s desk, looking out over his classroom, being filled over and over again with such a deliciously large cock, listening to filthy words spill from Neville Longbottom’s lips.

His grip spanned from the small of her waist to the flare of her hips, pulling her to him, "Can't stop thinking about everything you said- how you want it. I want to fuck you through all of it, in every way that brilliant brain of yours can come up with."

Hermione was between moaning and broken pleas as he began pounding into her with abandon, bottoming out with each punishing thrust. “You take it so well. You’re so fucking good, Hermione. Can’t believe-” he leaned over, his bare chest pressing her into the desk, his hand reaching to cover hers where she clutched the desk edge. Pain blossomed in her shoulder as he sunk his teeth in, then laid kisses up her neck, “Is this how you want it?”

“Yes! Gods, yes, Nev, you’re  _ so much, _ ” she whined. His other hand worked beneath her to squeeze roughly at her breast. There was nothing she could do but take it, tensing and shuddering, as her nerves grew taut with her impending orgasm. He was rasping something in her ear but her blood was pounding too loudly for her to hear it. Neville was on, around, and inside her.

She didn't know whether it was just her newfound awareness or if they had unintentionally stirred something up in the forest together, but with every thrust it felt like there was an intensifying fusion, like their magic was mingling and coursing between them. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she wailed helplessly,  _ “Neville-” _

Hermione felt all the building tension contract violently to her core and then explode outward, rolling through her in an almost agonizing surge.

“Bloody  _ fuck, _ ” Neville groaned as he pushed his final thrusts through the spasming stricture of her orgasm to deliver his release hard and deep. “Hermione-” her name escaped on a shuddering breath as he collapsed over her. She hummed vaguely in contentment.

After a moment he gave himself a little shake, “Sorry, sorry, probably crushing you, you little thing. Gods, my wits have gone.”

Neville fell back into his chair, pulling her with him and settling her onto his lap. She melted into him, sweaty and utterly spent, but grateful to be wrapped up in his arms all the same.

"I think you've ruined me as a teacher," he scrubbed a hand over his face, "Whenever I'm at this desk now all I'm going to be able to think about is you sitting here, fingering yourself."

"Neville!" she protested.

"I'm serious. You're a professional liability, you are." He gave her ribs a tickle, eliciting a little screech.

"Mercy!" she curled further into him, "I'm weak and defenseless."

"Liar," he said fondly, dropping a kiss into her hair.

"It's true. Can't you feel my legs shaking?"

"I guess you're stuck then."

"Yes, it's a terrible hardship," she pointedly nuzzled into his chest.

"You know," he cleared his throat, "I'm not sure what other old school fantasies you might have, but if you don't have any plans this weekend... we'd have the entire castle pretty well to ourselves."

"Really?" she bit her lip, considering. 

"Yeah, and I don't want you to think I'm trying to coerce you or something, but you would also be able to spend more time in the library."

She looked up into his hazel eyes mischievously, "With you? Because, not that I've got a proper list or anything, but-"

"Forget that I said staying was optional. It's absolutely not."

She managed to kiss him through her giggles, but it was a challenge that would persist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a oneshot is too much fun to let rest :)  
> I'd love your feedback if you've time for a comment or kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of Nevmione fun ;)  
> I'd love to hear comments and would welcome any feedback on tags- this is the first fic I've posted.  
> 


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